


In The Dark

by Sashetha



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Greek Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Emotional Roller Coaster, Except the Minotaur is actually a handsome beefcake sue me, Human/Monster Romance, I swear there's some fluff in there too somewhere, M/M, Male Slash, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Psychological Horror, Sensory Deprivation, Sexy chapters not there yet but on their way, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slash, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashetha/pseuds/Sashetha
Summary: A reimagining of what might have happened if Icarus survived his fall and found himself once more in captivity. Note that I've been very liberal with my interpretation of the loose canon of the characters in question and will probably rewrite some parts in the future, but I hope you enjoy the story for what it is: A self indulgent exercise of the unlikely-but-what-if-style of shipping. (Currently on hiatus. While I have some ideas as to where to take the plot I feel like I need to chew on it for a bit before I can put it all together.)





	1. He Fell From The Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scarlet_Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Claws/gifts).

The sky was a fiercely beautiful thing Icarus had though when the currents had suddenly lifted him up and he’d first broken through that low-hanging blanket of clouds. He hadn’t expected them to be so cold and wet. Even if he’d had had all the time in the world to muse over their physical properties and composition down from his vantage point at the tower.

At that he burst into hearty laughter. The irony of his thoughts did not elude him.

Oh how he’d longed for this day. To his old father it had had all just been a means to an end. _King Minos might hold dominion over both land and sea, but the air and skies above, those are free._ The words still lingered fresh in Icarus’ memory, but to him they had never rang entirely right. No, to him this had always been about something more. Something deep inside him screaming, craving and begging to touch what even king’s cannot.

He could hear his father desperately scream for him from somewhere below the clouds. He had the sense to feel the terror in his voice. Yet not the sense to care, as his own heart threatened to beat out of his chest and his eyes were beginning to tear up.

His entire body was shaking, but it was hard to tell if he was indeed freezing or burning up. Or if the tears in his eyes were due to happiness or perhaps an impending sense of grief and loss.

Both day and night he’d toiled away. Hypothesizing, calculating and building with his father what man had though impossible to create. He knew the mechanism like the back of his hand – how it all hung together, every single piece that made it up and... Indeed he knew from the moment the water had hit him in the face, the adhesive would loosen, undoing his work. There was no doubt to be had about the consequences, no doubt at all he would come crashing down. Feather by feather, like a plucked goose.

Unlike his father, who had safely fled below, he had understood, by then it had already been too late. Realization spurring him into desperation. One final, irrational attempt to touch the sun that would ultimately fail.

Icarus had never been the kind of man who prayed to the gods or played by their rules. Like his father he put his faith only in himself and his own two hands and yet…as the air was whipping past him and he found himself rapidly approaching the sea below he wondered: Perhaps Apollo himself had sensed his folly, and struck him down before it was too late?

* * *

He must have been quite the sight for the fishermen. “He…fell from the sky! He fell from the sky!” one shrieked in complete and utter disbelief. Most were momentarily silent. It wasn’t until Icarus’ limp body re-emerged, face down, amongst broken splinters of wood, feathers and other debris that they began muttering, cursing and shouting between themselves. As if for a moment the ones who had seen him had indeed doubted their own eyes.

The fishermen of crete were a brazen lot though, and practically born with their legs submerged in the sea. It didn’t take a couple of them long to leave their nets behind to jump off the boat and make the short swim towards the unconscious young man. They found him with his nose bleeding, one arm entirely broken and most of his upper body in some way scraped up and bruised, but somehow, despite all odds and reason they managed to get some life back into him after they’d pulled him onto the deck of the ship. Even if his eyelids had only fluttered open for the briefest moment and his breathing, after the initial wet coughing and sharp inhales remined shallow and rasp.

Despite all his injuries though it was evident the young man was quite handsome. With a striking face that could perhaps rival Adonis himself, framed by healthy, shoulder-long waves of dark hair and a body, while less impressive, still in possession of a good set of shoulders and the long limbs of a born athlete.

He was clad in a clean, white linen chiton, reaching till a little over his knee and tied around his waist with a simple, but beautifully woven blue belt. However, what had been most telling of all and convinced most Hermes himself had fallen from the heavens was the simple fact that his bare feet were entirely uncalloused and hardly looked like they’d seen a day in the dirt.

Of course, when they returned to shore with their find rumours spread quickly and many came to see him. Some even with offerings and prayers they intended for him to take back to the gods. Before things got out of hand though the king’s men were at the docks, relieving the fishermen off the would be _Hermes_. Their king wanted to see the godly messenger for himself, they had said.

* * *

When Icarus came to it was with a fresh set on clothes, on a soft bed in a richly ornate room, with vibrant tiling and beautiful fresco’s of young men and women dancing all along the walls. Accompanying and watching over his every move were several guards positioned around the room. No doubt the kings personal ones, judging by the fit of their armour and the stern, disciplined look of the lot.

Icarus found himself overcome with memory of a long time ago when he’d still been allowed to wander the palace quite freely. Said freedom had ended abruptly however the day his mother had tried to smuggle him out of the palace and off of Crete. They’d caught them both at the port and as punishment she’d been sent away. He’d never really found out where too, but he supposed it had been part of the punishment. To refuse him and his father both a sense of closure. While of course, he himself had also that day been thrown into that dammed tower. Never to be let out again…that is until today.

It was no sooner than he’d finished reminiscing over the past that the man personally responsible for all of it made his entrance, another two guards accompanying him at his side. He was a broad mountain of a man, almost the entire height of the door he’d entered, with a long black beard, heavy, stern brows and sharp eyes. No doubt at the peak of his youth he would have seemed nothing short of herculean, but even now any man trying to stifle with him would have been a fool. Which only served to speak of the rulers paranoia, seeing as anyone with even half an eye could see the injured youth laying in the bed posed him about as much of a threat as mouse to a lion. Or perhaps it was all in some excessive attempt to further intimidate him?

“It would seem the messenger has awoken.” The room fell into a soft laughter, as the king made his joke. Only Icarus, seemed to not understand, face furrowing up in poorly masked confusion.

The king noticed and proceeded to explain “That’s what the people have come to call you. _Hermes. _Don’t you find it bemusing young man?”

Icarus, who despite himself knew better than to start arguing with a king over something so petty, nodded in agreement. “…I suppose so, your highness.”

“Oh - The young man has manners!” The king suddenly bellowed and once more the room laughed with him. “But we both know who you really are, don’t we?”

Something about the sudden coldness to his tone made Icarus aware it wouldn’t have been wise to play dumb. It didn’t mean he didn’t struggle with the urge though, as he bit the inside of his lip and slowly nodded once more.

“The surprise on my face this morning when I was told you and your father had disappeared, you should have seen it boy-”

“I can imagine…”

The king left out a low chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that…Icarus, was that your name?”

Once more he slowly nodded.

There was a long pause as the demon slowly drank his wine. Room suddenly so quiet, Icarus was sure the man could have heard him nervously swallow down his own spit. It was a show of power. That he was the one in control, and Icarus was little more than a sparrow with a broken wing laying on his lap. One whom he could easily pick up and crush, given even the slightest excuse.

“You probably think of me as a cruel man.”

Icarus didn’t answer.

“-You’d be right. It takes a cruel man to rule a kingdom. A man capable of making decisions other cannot.”

Icarus felt his heartbeat begin picking up. For a moment he was back in the air, rapidly approaching the waves.

“Despite his many transgressions, a man like your father however…It would have been a waste to simply kill, don’t you think?” King Minos paused, but not for long enough to give Icarus a chance to reply. “A craftsman like no other. Ingenious; talented. I figured I’d keep him around just in case I’d find myself in need of his services again. I even allowed him a wife and a child…That’s quite generous of me, wouldn’t you say?”

A wife he’d later taken away and a child he’d imprison along with his father, he of course neglected to mention. Icarus’s jaw clenched. Sixteen years he’d spent in that tower and yet here the man was without a shadow of a doubt implying it had all been a form of kindness. It took every last remaining bit of self-control in him to lower his gaze and slowly nod along.

“Now, I am not merciful, but despite what you deserve, and no doubt _know_ you deserve, I am willing to once more be generous Icarus.”

Another pause. Almost as if he was waiting for the words to sink in and for Icarus to throw himself off the bed and start kissing his feet.

“Is it true what they say? That you fell from the sky?”

There was an even longer pause this time as the young man carefully considered his next words. He knew the king had already begun fishing for answers. “If…I did, I must have hit my head pretty hard on the way down.”

At that the king burst into laughter. At least the man had a sense of humour, albeit a morbid one.

“What do you want from me?” Icarus asked, when he had calmed down.

This time there was no beating around the bush. “I want to know how you escaped and to where your father is heading.”

Icarus sighed. He knew at heart this was what it had been about all along, but it hadn’t been the answer he was hoping for. “Afraid _that_ I cannot remember.”

The smile on the older man’s face was suddenly replaced by a sneer. “You’d be _wise_ to remember…”

“I suppose so.” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

“Your father went great lengths to leave no trace of his work behind. Even going as far as to set the room on fire before your escape. Do you remember that?”

The young man shrugged once more. Even if he told him every last detail he knew the kind of man Minos was. He could just decide to have him killed anyway, for being a coward. Rip out his tongue. Throw him into a pit filled with wipers. Send him flying off a cliff just to see if he could somehow take flight. Even if he’d lie to buy himself some time, no doubt in the end it would only make things worse for him. And if he told the truth and was not outright killed…how could Icarus live with himself, knowing he’d sold out his own father to do so?

“Tsk tsk.” King Minos shook his head. “You’re really wearing on my patience _boy_…and I’m not known to be a patient man.”

It was hopeless. To survive a fall from the heavens, only to be recaptured and killed by his enemy. With a resigned sigh Icarus finally looked up and let his eyes meet the regent's, allowing the clarity in them speaking for itself.

Now it was his turn to fall silent. Icarus could tell he had caught him off guard, with the unvoiced, but clear show of defiance. Still retaining eye contact the man reached for his glass and took another long drink. Then shook his head, as he slowly broke into a low chuckle. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?.. You really are Daedalus son…_Icarus_.” For a moment his stern eyes were looking right through him, face unreadable. Only when the focus returned to them did Icarus wish he had indeed suddenly become invisible. “I will make you regret that.”

“…I suppose so.” Was all Icarus could muster in response.

“you _suppose_ so…” The king scoffed.

* * *

It was a small mercy they’d bandaged his broken arm up before he’d woken up. Had king Minos known he would refuse to speak he wold no doubt have not extended him that courtesy. A part of Icarus still struggled to understand how he’d even managed to survive his fall with little more than a broken arm and some superficial bruising and cuts. Wondering if perhaps he was somehow still out there, falling, and this was all just an elaborate trick of his mind in his last moments before death.

If it was he hoped it would stop before they began killing him. Because whatever they had planned, he had no doubt it would neither be quick nor merciful. King Minos had proudly stated so himself, he was a cruel man, obviously taking enjoyment in the power he held over others.

Before they had managed to arrive at their destination however they were interrupted.

“Wait.” A commanding female voice demanded from somewhere behind them, for a moment stopping the guardsmen in their tracks, and hence also the one holding him by his healthy arm.

He could hear the king sigh somewhere behind them, before he presumably turned around to see his wife.

“Who is that young man Minos? Where are you taking him?”

“Daedalus’ son. Taking him to the cliffside, where he will be strung up and left to be picked at by the vultures. Does that satisfy your curiosity, woman?”

“Oh, but what has he done to deserve so?” She sounded a bit shocked, but somehow not in an entirely genuine way.

“Mind your own business.” King Minos responded curtly. Something told Icarus the man had little patience for his wife questioning him…or anyone else for that matter.

“And it’s such a waste too…” He could hear her and part of her own precession make their up to them, suddenly a gentle hand touching him by the hair. “Turn him around for me.”

The guard holding on to him looked back for a moment, presumably to look at his king and gage if he should listen.

When Icarus was turned around, he was met with a beautiful older woman, dressed in a mixture of varying shades of blues and creamt yellow, with rich pearl jewelry, long braided hair and coal lines carefully painted around her eyes in a fashion that might on a normal woman seem almost vulgar but on her somehow only seemed to accentuate her status. If there had ever been any doubt about the woman’s identity it was gone now. It simply could be no other than queen Pasiphae herself.

“Poor thing…You’ve already began hurting him.” She concluded, as she finished eyeing him up and down.

Again he could hear the king let out a deep sigh, but he didn’t bother correcting his wife. Or, to be more correct she didn’t give him the opportunity before she continued speaking.

“But if you insist on killing the handsome youth at least make proper use of him. I can only imagine at how lonely our poor son must be…”

“That _thing_ is not _my_ son, woman…”

Icarus was smart enough not look directly at the king when he was angry, but the confusion on his face was evident and it did not escape the queen. As far as he knew the king had only ever had one son and that one had been assassinated. 

“Oh…So Daedalus never told you about the prison he built for _our_ poor second-born? Why Mino’s hasn’t allowed him to leave since?” Suddenly Icarus understood the woman’s prior show of sympathy hadn’t been genuine in the slightest capacity. “Tsk tsk. To think the old man didn’t even tell his own son…That’s very much like him though. He never liked divulging his secrets beyond what was necessary.”

She turned back to her husband, once more, with a demure smile creeping over her beautiful face. “But don’t you think it would be quite appropriate, _dear_? If it is your intention is to punish Daedalus for escaping, that is, to have his son sent to a prison his own making…”

It was only when Icarus dared look up at the king that he noticed his expression had changed to one of contemplation. It made his hairs stand on end. Suddenly every nerve in his body screaming that the woman in front of him was no less dangerous than her husband. For if the king was the head in this marriage, she was surely the neck.

“You have a point my Pasiphae. It would be appropriate. And in the end he’ll be no less dead, when _your_ pet is done with him.”

For a moment the smile on her face stiffened, but she said no more. Seemingly content with the outcome of things and willing to humble herself if it meant things could stay that way.

Icarus could have scoffed. It really wasn’t fair. Most men had to resign to their fate only once. His on the other hand was as if hanging by a string precariously swung from one side to another by people who only knew to play with the lives of others. Gods, what had he done to deserve this?.. He prayed at least whatever lay in store was somehow better than being strung up to die by vultures on a cliffside. Because he had to give credit where credit was due, king Minos was creative with his methods of torture.

* * *

He wasn’t sure what to think when they began going down a long, circling staircase. Much less so when he was pushed onto a wooden platform and lowered further down a vertical tunnel with instruction to step off it once it hit the ground.

As soon as he had done so, it lifted behind him, leaving him only to helplessly watch as the light of their torches flicker through the shrinking cracks between the planks and then disappeared entirely. The ear-piercingly silent darkness which had then swallowed him made everything prior somehow feel less real. As if he really had finally hit those waves and shattered into a million bloody pieces. 

Except, he could still hear himself breathe. Feel his heart beating in his chest... His own weight heavy as he stepped forward and felt the cold packed dirt beneath his feet. Just like the wet air that carried that distinctly mineral scent. He shivered. Perhaps, in the end, it made no difference?

The question remained though, how could anyone, even Minos, be sick enough to keep his child in a place like this? If he even was his child…Icarus honestly wasn’t sure what to think. Pasiphae had spoken lovingly of him. Like a mother. While Minos had referred to him as “that thing” and her “pet”. Was it really just some sort of beast they kept below the palace? A monster the woman had taken a sick fascination with? Or was it some poor malformed bastard child the king refused to acknowledge as one of his own?..

He took another few steps, healthy arm outstretched as he tried to find his way forward without walking into something…_someone_?

Regardless it was sick. Sick and unnatural.

He soon felt a rocky surface appear to his right. Presumably because he hadn’t been walking straight forward as he had guessed, already losing his sense of direction. Something in his chest tightened. His breathing began picking up. Despite the deceiving calmness he had felt after being lowered down he knew he was already buckling under the weight of the situation. Stumbling ahead faster, with no mind or reason other than an instinctual urge to get out.

This place was just wrong. The air stood still down here. There was no wind. No movement other than his own. No sound other than the slapping of his feet against the ground and his increasingly panicked breathing. Only dark. Suffocating. Lifeless. _Hades_.

He wasn’t sure for how long he’d been blindly stumbling ahead exactly, but he would soon come to understand _this_, would merely be the beginning of his torment. His mind, unable to make sense of the darkness would soon begin _filling_ it. Painting things and imagines that made no sense. Faces and figures deformed and devoid of any perceivable logic yet filled with evil intent.

Had his own father foreseen this? That this would be the outcome for any sane man trapped within his rat maze? Had he all along been no different from their captor? A cruel madman in his own right? 

Icarus’ breathing hitched. He could feel his outreached arm shake. Fingers already raw from rubbing up against the surface of the wall.

* * *

He wasn’t sure for how long he continued like this. Sometimes when he’d calm down a bit the hellish visions haunting him would similarly ease up and become more benign. Recognisable as something other than terrifying. But even then, their eyes kept following him. Their voices whispering things between themselves and him. And when it would start getting to him that was when it would always get worse. As if any paranoid thought or compulsion was a _suggestion_.

At first, he hadn’t dared to speak back to them or acknowledge them in any way. Knew it was simply insane and it would only risk attracting the attention of something he’d been told would surely kill him. In the end it all became too much though. Icarus simply couldn’t help but ask them to stop. To shut up. To go away. Leave him alone. At first demanding, then pleading, bargaining…begging.

“Please no more…please…please...” His voice was hardly even recognisable as his own anymore. Whimpering, hoarse and frayed along the edges from repeatedly asking the figments of his own mind to leave him alone.

Suddenly though he fell silent. Somewhere between the whispers he heard breathing. Breathing other than his own…accompanied by heavy, deliberate steps slowly becoming louder. _Thud…Thud… Thud…_ The more he concentrated on it the more the whispers calmed and the more he heard it. The ones remaining though were whispering the most horrible things.

_Closer. Closer. Closer. The monster is coming to kill. Rip you apart. Piece by piece. Break your bones. Drink the marrow._

No…No! NO! He ran. His frantic steps echoing through the maze.

_Crack your skull. Rip out your eyes. _

“Stop it!”

_Like the vultures. _

“shut up!”

_Like the waves. _

“no!”

_Crush. _

“…please!”

_Icarus will never see the sun again. _

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!” He shouted, feet slapping against the dirt. Body crashing against shark unyielding rock. Again and again. More running. More walls. Until suddenly there was no more left to turn. A dead end.

_Thud… Thud… Thud... _Heavy breathing. So close now.

_Nowhere left to go for Icarus. Cornered like a rat. He’s asking why._

Icarus sank down, holding around himself, shaking. Words reduced to little more than hicks and sobs. Tears streaming down his face as he curled into himself. 

_All because the fool flew too high in the sky. _

The heavy steps came closer. Like a bulls hoofs, threading the ground. He felt too afraid to look up at it. And yet at the same time too afraid not to. The creature his mind had rationalized was so large all other creations had to cower before it. A hulking, horned behemoth with embers for eyes and a coat so dark its form nearly melted into the darkness.

The beast came closer. He could see its maw open now that it was leaning down over him. Impossibly wide. Within it a void so all-consuming even his frayed subconscious knew not how to fill it.

Something touched him. He jolted, momentarily ripped out of his trance. Kicked with all his might. Felt it connect with something that yielded. Heard the heavy thud of something enormous hitting the dirt.

A deep groan echoed through the space.

Icarus scrambled to get to get away to another corner. Then once more he sensed movement, but this time his ankle was caught within its grip and by the time he’d tried to kick with the other it had already closed the distance between them, measuring it nothing more than a useless push.

Without warning something had been placed onto his eyes. He fought against it. Trying to remove it. Screaming “NO! NO! NO!” as he blindly clawed away at it with his remaining arm.

He felt the other shift in response. The breathing even closer now. Unlike his own, even and uninterrupted. The hand that held him by the ankle let go slowly and up toward his knee. Carefully…stroking him?

Icarus didn’t understand. Only felt the hulking figure continue leaning even closer. Warm breath practically tickling the bridge of his nose now. Slowly, placing its…cheek against his forehead in what could almost be mistaken for…a comforting manner. Loose strands of long hair falling over his shoulders, along with own.

“Shh…shhhh…”

That’s when it hit Icarus. He was already blind. it gained nothing from covering his eyes…

However the _behemoth_, the faces, the monsters, the incessive whispering…They were all gone now. All he could feel was the weight of its palm. Gently, but insistently shielding his eyes.

Icarus’ breath hitched. His grip around the other’s hand loosened. He could hear him holding his breath and the hand on his knee freeze up. Perhaps unsure about the shift in demeanour. They stayed like this for a long while.

Icarus’ own hand was still shaking when finally let go and lifted it towards the strangers face. When his fingers connected with skin he felt the other flinch a little. But he moved his face back into the touch soon, allowing the young man to trace the outlines of it. The angle of his jaw. Soft lips. Straight nose. All larger than felt natural, but still strikingly human. Until he came to his cheekbones and the bridge of his brow and realised the skin had given way to a short, fine layer of… fur. His ears similarly so, and both thinner and more elongated in shape as compared to how they should be. They lowered a little as his fingers graced them and felt warm to the touch. Then further above that, nested between long locks of oily hair…horns. Long, curved backwards, and then forward, narrowing until they ended into a dangerously sharp point.

He understood now. The stranger wasn’t a beast, but he was neither entirely human. If truly a son of Minos and Pasiphae, too disgraceful to show to the world…so this is where they choose to keep him. Allowing him a sort of existence in the dark, over outright death. Forever trapped in a prison of Daedalus’ making.

…Ironic how it now felt oddly appropriate that the man had been a prisoner fir all those years. Even if a life in a well-furnished palace tower felt like Olympus itself as compared to where he found himself now. Despite his love for his father Icarus almost found himself now wishing he had talked back when Mino’s had made his offer. Regardless of it would have ultimately changed the outcome of his own fate or not, it simply wasn’t fair that Daedalus was out there, soaring freely, basking in the sun, while this poor creature was forever trapped in his unholy construction.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” Icarus’ voice was hardly above a whisper. He wasn’t sure what he was apologising for. If he was simply expressing pity. If he felt guilty for having helped one of the people responsible for all this escape a just fate. He just knew he felt for him. _Hurt _with him. In the worst way possible.

The hand that had been on his knee moved away. He felt the fingers land on his lips. Interrupting the apology. Now it was the half-beasts turn to touch. Gentler than those large, calloused hands had any right to. Tracing the young man’s face in a manner which made his cheeks heat up a bit in a way it shouldn’t have.

He inhaled sharply when that same hand traced along the outline of his ear. Felt it continue town his neck, along his collarbone, stopping at the shoulder. He’d reached the injured arm. Seemingly taken aback by the sudden change in texture, of the bandage. “Broken…It’s broken.” Icarus tried to explain. The stranger said nothing, but his handling of the arm, even more carefully and slow than he had been before indicated he had understood.

Next he slid his finger along the fabric of his clothes. Seemingly marvelling at the fine texture of the chiton and the way it folded around the wool belt tied around his waist. He liked the texture of that too, tracing along the bumps and indentations of the woven pattern multiple times, applying pressure which made something in Icarus’ stomach flutter.

It felt odd being touched like this. With such care and deliberation. Much more so when it was by a stranger... And yet there was nothing in the moment that the young man craved more than that gentle touch. Accompanied by the feeling of someone else’s warm body next to his. The rhythmic sound of their breathing. The heavy weight of that hand holding over his eyes.

He leaned into it, and when the other froze up he found himself once more chasing the physical contact. His own hand again reaching out, connecting with warm skin. Tracing along a broad muscular chest. Softly expanding and shrinking along with the rhythm of his breathing. Somewhere within it a beating heart, drumming slowly.

The rest of him felt similar. Broad. Muscled. Masculine, for lack of a better term. Only when Icarus found his hand tracing down below the navel did that warm cheek suddenly leave his forehead and a hand grab hold of his own, stopping him.

He inhaled sharply. As a warm feeling now well and truly creeping over his face. He hadn’t realised how the other’s breathing had picked up. How his own had as well. And how the air had suddenly become thick with tension.

What was he doing? This wasn’t normal. Not like him at all, to act like…He couldn’t even finish the thought. So completely and utter embarrassed with himself was he. “I’m sorry…” He whispered. “I don’t know what has gotten into me…”

He heard a shaky sigh. Something told him the other was shifting uncomfortably. What the young man hadn’t been expecting however was to suddenly hear a reply. “You…don not have to…I will not leave you alone… in the dark.” The sentence was broken up. Words spoken awkwardly. With a voice hoarse from disuse. 

So shocked was Icarus that it took him a moment to realise what he had even meant. “Oh…No… No! Don’t misunderstand I-I…I wasn’t trying to-“ The hand over his eyes moved away. “I’ve never been touched like that before!” He grabbed hold of it, trying to explain. “Never…touched someone like that before…I didn’t think…F-frankly I didn’t think at all…” The young man groaned, pushing that hand against his cheek in some sort of wordless attempt to truly illustrate the extent of his embarrassment.

There was a long pause. A Part of Icarus was suddenly indeed overcome with the fear that the other might just get up and leave him behind. What happened instead was the hand lingered. It lingered for a long time. And when it did, eventually shift, it was to grip his own and move it up to his face…just as hot to the touch.

Icarus sighed. Perhaps he should have been more frightened of exiting the other in ways he shouldn’t, but somehow it felt reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one embarrassed. “I’m…not the first one they’ve sent down here, am I?”

“…No.”

“How many have there been?”

“…Many.”

Suppose Icarus should have expected as much of an answer. This one wasn’t exactly gifted in the art of speech, that much was certain. “Where are they…now?”

There was another pause, the half-beast long looking for the right words and even after still explaining with some hesitation. “They…never do well in the dark… Always ask Asterion to…_end it_.”

Icarus shuddered. He didn’t have a hard time imagining the giant of a man easily snapping someone’s neck. Death would be painless and instant…Only his tone told him it left _him _with a different kind of pain weighing heavy on his heart. And of course, knowing how well others had fared before it didn’t exactly bode well for Icarus.

“Your name…How do you...”

“I remember _her_ calling me by it.”

“Queen Pasiphae…”

“Yes…” His voice had gradually gotten quieter. Hardly above a whisper. Almost as if he’d had this conversation before and he knew exactly where it would end.

“You know she’s the one who…”

“I’m sorry…” His voice was beginning to shake. Perhaps that should have told Icarus that he should have stopped right then and there. 

He didn’t. “You know why I’m here...”

“Please forgive me…” He stood up suddenly. Before Icarus had a chance to say anything else, he sensed him back away.

“NO! Wait! You can’t!” Icarus stumbled onto his feet. “You promised you’d stay! Regardless-” but by the time he reached out in front of himself there was only empty air and darkness all around, and while he could still hear him, he knew this place simply too well for Icarus to catch up.

, and while he could still hear him, he knew this place simply to well for Icarus to catch up. 


	2. Into the dark

_Liar. Liar. Liar. _

For once Icarus agreed with the whispers. Asterion had promised not to leave him alone, and yet the moment Icarus had started asking questions he had.

_Coward. _

He hit a wall. For once on purpose. Even if he knew it was useless, only leaving his fist feeling raw. Still, against the excruciating monotony of this place he welcomed the feeling. _Any_ feeling.

He’d never thought of himself as insane, though he supposed earlier today he must have quite looked that way to his father. Who would he have been to judge him now though? _In the dark_.

Icarus scoffed. No, he refused to believe he was mad. Creative was a more apt word to describe him…and yet, ironically, he suspected that creative mind he’d inherited from his father somehow only made him more susceptible to the madness of this place. It craved _something_. Badly…No, _needed_ it. In the same way lungs _crave_ air. Meanwhile what was going on between the ears of the _half-beast_? Who knew? Perhaps not even much at all. This certainly would have explained how he had managed to keep himself from going insane all these years.

_Stupid selfish beast. _

He groaned. Perhaps it would have just been better to have been brought to those cliffs and thrown himself off. Only, knowing his luck of course he would have survived. Broken and in the most crippling pain no doubt, but at the very least he could have watched the gradual passage of time in the sky. Felt the Tide against his legs. The wind caressing his skin.

He shuddered at the last thought, suddenly reminded of a different kind of caress. Warm hands. Worn. Callused. Softly tracing along the lines of his face. He’d felt like a fool for loosing himself in it, but it hadn’t been fair. Desperate as he was for anything that could distract him from the darkness. Even if just for a moment…How could the other not have realised that being touched like that would have a healthy young man like himself react accordingly? 

“Assuming I was just trying to seduce you like some sort of cheap whore…” he muttered bitterly. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Still his breathing was picking up just thinking back to it. Despite his pride, such a welcome distraction. Only, placing his own hand over his eyes didn’t feel the same. Just left him feeling exposed. And frankly he increasingly found that he needed that hand for _other things_.

_Touching yourself to the beast. Pathetic._

“As if I don’t know…” But who cared now? Who had to know? Certainly not _him_ who had run away. Even if his hands were the ones he was imagining, as he slowly retraced the shapes and lines that made him, in the same way they had.

_Pasiphae would have been pleased. _

“Shut up…” He grunted, as he sank down and continued sliding the palm of his hand along places Asterion hadn’t dared to. Chasing away the hallucinations, as he instead focused on imagining what might have happened if he had. Those hands, finding their way beneath his chiton. Moving the fabric out of the way. Sheepishly. Touching, sensing just how much the young man had unravelled between his gentle fingers. Holding _him_ tightly, as he’d helplessly moan. “Mmh…”

_His_ breathing would have picked up with his own then. Hot and laboured as that large hand slid up and down his length. At first slow. Hesitant. Tracing up and down the curve of it. Exploratory. Until the movement would start picking up in phase. Faster. Rougher. Until…until…

“Mmhm!..”

* * *

His face felt hot. Chest rising and falling fast. Perhaps he was mad after all? Or would anyone have acted the same under the given circumstances? He didn’t know. Frankly, lacked any frame of reference for how he should react. Asterion had known though…if not exactly what he was seeing and hearing, at least the fact that he had been seeing and hearing _something_. Had he not?

The young man sighed, leaning back as he wiped his sullied hand against the wall. He hadn’t been the first. The queen it turned out really was no better than her husband. If perhaps not always sending people to their deaths out of outright malice, certainly doing so with a callous disregard. Perhaps guided by some selfish sense of motherly love or maybe even guilt? Icarus wasn’t sure. In fact all he really knew was that he knew nothing; mind stuffed with too many questions and uncertainties and not nearly enough answers.

_It isn’t fair, is it, Icarus?_

“Icarus...” He repeated his own name out loud for no real reason other than that it felt a little good to say it. As if the action somehow confirmed that despite everything he was still there. Still _real_.

He wasn’t sure for how many hours he’d stayed like that. Only that at some point he’d managed, against all odds and reason to fall asleep, and by the time he woke up his arm was throbbing something excruciatingly. Presumably because whatever ointments they had put under the bandage or made him consume had run their course. Of course, he also doubted his manic stumbling and crashing around in the dark had made it any better.

He shuddered. Rubbed his eyes with his remaining, healthy arm. Then an aching spot on behind his neck, giving himself a moment, before he lifted himself up and began feeling his way through the corridors. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Asterion? A way out? “Tsh…” finding either was unlikely at best. So suppose it came down to the fact that if he didn’t move he felt he would simply go mad beyond the point of no return. That is, if he hadn’t already…

Of course, there had been instances when his _ghosts_ had disappeared. Fleeting moments of peace and quiet. But most of the time they were at least lingering... In the corner of his vision. Following him from behind. Surrounding him in the darkness. Whispering like they always did. Whispering…whispering…whispering…

It was easier to pretend he managed to ignore them when he was doing something though. Because he’d guessed by now this was what it came down to. The fact that his mind simply wasn’t equipped to handle the lack of noise and…seeing.

That’s why he had to keep reminding himself they weren’t real. Because it was those moment when he forgot that they truly took to life and held sway over him. So it all made sense now…thinking back…or maybe better not. He didn’t want to remember those moments of complete and utter terror that had led up to his meeting with Asterion. Remembering was inviting it back in.

Icarus shuddered. He’d been doing that a lot as of late…

* * *

The young man’s tongue slid over his lips. Gods, he was getting thirsty. Funny, though how the thought of food and water hadn’t even fallen into his head until now, so used was he to that much being a given. And he was getting colder too. Increasingly finding himself shivering, yet helpless to do anything about it.

_Weak and foolish…He never thinks more than one step ahead._

Icarus groaned. He knew. He knew. He knew. They didn’t have to point it out. Not like he could have even done anything about it to begin with. Neither Minos nor Pasiphae had left him with anything as he was lowered down. So what did they suggest he should have done?!

Shudder. That was all he could do now. Move along blindly while the cold slowly coiled its way around him. Starting at the tips of his fingers. The soles of his bare feet. crawling up – weighing him down.

_You poor thing… _

_She _was smiling at him. The woman with the snakes. He smiled back weakly.

Something about her beauty felt familiar. Pale like the petals of a flower, with long, black hair draping down across the sensual curves of her naked body. She didn’t move at first, but she didn’t have to. As far as Icarus was concerned, he only had one way to go and that way was forward.

Still, when he reached her, he couldn’t quite bring himself to pass her like he had so many others. Her smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. The snakes were dancing in her hands. Almost hypnotic.

When she reached out for him he felt too heavy to move away…Too tired, as the serpents coiled and slithered up his arms. Cold against his skin. Too cold for his liking, he quickly realised, only to also realise he was feeling more of them gathering at his feet. Crawling their icy bodies up his legs.

His eyes widened. He tried to remind himself they weren’t real. Despite what he might be perceiving…But why did it feel so real? Like they were indeed slowly covering him. Flickering their wet tongues while their frigid bodies increasingly slid across each other in a growing frenzy. Suffocating him as he watched _her. _ Still smiling, coal painted eyes oddly empty.

“…You’re not…real” His teeth were chattering against each other, voice no more than a whisper under his breath. She didn’t care for it as she leaned forward, as if to embrace him. He tried to fight his way out of it, only to stumble and fall. She and her snakes descended upon him then, holding him tightly as her cold finger slid under the fabric of his clothes.

Breathing down his neck… He felt her lips open. Something slid out, encircling his throat like a noose - When it bit him it felt like ice was flooding down his spine.

_such a waste…_

* * *

Lips pressed against his. Cold. The feeling of water, slipping into his mouth. The young man felt confused. Didn’t understand what was going on. Just did his best to swallow it down, despite his tremors. Trying not to choke. 

The hand that was holding him in place felt cold too. However, the chest he was pressed against warm. Comforting. Breathing softly. He leaned into it. Seeking the heat – chasing away the serpents. 

He could hear the other person say something then, but it felt like he was trying to listen while his head was submerged in water. He knew there were words, but simply could not hear enough to understand…and he neither had the strength not will to fight it. Just wanted the cold gone.

…The voice sounded familiar though. Deep, but soft. Gentle. “Asterion…” He found himself mumbling between chattering teeth. The talking stopped for a moment. He could feel the others grip shift…tighter.

* * *

When he woke up again, he felt…like shit. Frankly. Cold, dirty, sweaty and still shivery.

He now realised he had a fever. But it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been now that he found himself wrapped up in warm arms, body cradled in the curve of a hunched over torso. So much bigger than his own. Face pressed against a familiar chest, slowly rising in an even rhythm.

Asterion was sleeping. Icarus could tell… Also naked, a more attentive part of him took note. Should he be surprised? He wasn’t sure. In a grim way it made sense that he’d wear no clothes. After all, where would he get them? And in any case he wasn’t about to abandon his only source of warmth because the man’s limp cock was touching his thigh. 

_Tsh…Who are you trying to fool? After what you did? Thinking of him…_

Icarus sighed. If his delusions had been physical entities, he would have strangled them ten times over by now. For now, though he found himself content with just closing his eyes and slowly allowing his own breathing to fall in line with the others.

Ignoring the fever, it almost felt nice.

_Safe._

Yes...

* * *

In his dreams he was somewhere else. Somewhere bright and warm… The roof of that tower, where he liked to retreat when he needed some time by himself. He’d often found himself contemplating what it was like to be a seagull, back then. Soaring through the skies freely. How far could they go? Would they be able to reach the celestial bodies if they simply flew for long enough? 

He closed his eyes, imagining it. Listening to the sound of their screeching and the passing wind. Heard his father shout something from somewhere down below. Realised that the roof was now gone and he was falling. Faster. Faster. Faster.

That dreadful feeling of his stomach flipping upside down as the waves were coming closer. Like the jagged teeth of a monster threatening to consume him.

He reached out in front of himself, trying to shield himself.

A sharp pain. He inhaled suddenly, body jolted into lucidity. Heartbeat pounding away, like a blacksmith hammering away at an anvil. Body covered in a thin shean of sweat.

Only when he’d calmed down did he realise he was back in the labyrinth. Trapped in the dark. But he was no longer shivering and Asterion was still there too…holding him. Breathing slowly. However, not as slowly as he had before and with a tighter grip around him.

Somehow it made Icarus reluctant to move. Perhaps because he wasn’t sure what might happen. The other had helped him once more, having found or stumbled over him in his feverish state, but who was to say he wouldn’t leave again?

They stayed like this for a long time. Quietly. Until the growing sense of tension began to feel overwhelming.

Icarus opened his mouth to speak first…only he wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, the other somehow sensed it and that proved to be enough to make him speak.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“I am…glad.”

“…Thank you.” Icarus felt a bit like a fool.

“You are…welcome.” Somehow, he had a feeling the other felt the same way as well.

There was a small pause, where neither knew what to say. That is until Icarus heard a shaky sigh, and that soft voice spoke again. “I am sorry for…what I did.”

Icarus nodded slowly in response. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. To say he forgave him would have been a blatant lie…even if he felt grateful, no, knew for a fact he oved his life to him, another part of him was still angry he’d left him alone. Even if he had…

Icarus sighed. “I’m sorry I asked too many questions.”

“No!...” Asterion interrupted him. ”Y-you have the right to…know…I…I should not have ran…Leaving you…alone was not…I…” The half-beast let out a frustrated groan. This wasn’t the response Icarus had expected. The half-beasts breathing had picked up while he was trying to figure out the words. There was a long pause, before he admitted “…I was afraid…”

Now it was Icarus’s turn to look for the right words. That is if they even existed, because in the end he still had to settle for “I don’t understand.”

Asterion’s grip shifted, for a moment reminding Icarus just how close they were to each other. It really made no sense. Except, he supposed it almost did, that in the dark they would find themselves desperately clinging on to each other.

“I…felt relived when I found you…but…”

“But you understand at what cost that comes.”

“Yes…” He whispered in a voice tinged by shame.

Icarus sighed. Then, despite himself, let out a chuckle at the absurdity of it. “…If it makes you feel any better my life was forfeit anyway.”

“I don’t…understand.”

“The king would have had me strung up at the cliffs to be picked apart by the vultures.”

“But, why?” The mix of confusion and concern in his voice was endearing. Icarus found himself smiling, weakly.

“Escape. Me and my father devised an ingenious plan to escape his captivity, only I suppose, for my part it _fell_ through.”

“You were caught?..”

“Yes, they fished me up from the sea, I guess. Or perhaps I washed up at the shore?”

“I have been told the sea is beautiful…” There was a hesitant longing in his words. Icarus realised with some sadness though that whoever told him could not have been able to truly explain what it was to someone who’d lived their entire life in the darkness. No more than they would to a blind man.

“I find the sky is prettier…The sea is just a shattered mirror.”

“…A shattered mirror?”

Icarus smiled. Despite knowing better, he’d stepped right into that one. “It’s a polished surface. So smooth that when you look at it you see yourself looking back…I know it might be hard to imagine, but when broken into pieces the picture becomes incomplete.”

There was another long pause, as Icarus could practically feel the other chew on the words and try to somehow digest the information, despite lacking any frame of reference. In the end he simply concluded. “It sounds sad.”

“well, I suppose broken things are sad, but the sea isn’t broken. It’s just it’s beauty…I think, largely comes from reflecting the sky. You don’t see much of what’s actually going on beneath the surface and I for one have always found that a bit unnerving.” He came to remember his mother telling him stories a long time ago. About giant underwater creatures that would swallow boats whole. Children of Keto and servants of Poseidon that would be sent out to lay ruin to villages and even entire kingdoms. 

“…Were you and your father slaves?” The half-beast asked with some hesitation.

Icarus laughed. “No, I suppose not…Strictly speaking we were free men held captive…But my mother was one.”

“Oh…”

“I take it most of those sent down here were Pasiphae’s slaves?”

“…Yes…But a few also servants…and sometimes prisoners… but those spoke differently.”

There was a long pause. Icarus could guess that meant the prisoners weren’t from Crete. Which, come to think of, reminded him he’d sometimes seen Athenian ships arrive at the docks with people who were taken up to the palace. He wondered now if perhaps those could be the prisoners the halfbeast spoke of and if he should ask about them. Or perhaps it was better to leave the subject entirely, at risk of what happened prior repeating itself. The bull seemed calm, but one never really knew what people kept submerged within. Much less so when one can’t even attempt to read their face. Still, a part of him he found wanted to trust Asterion, and so far that trust had mostly been justified, save for that _one_ major exception.

“Have you ever…seen anything?”

There was a pause. He felt the half-beast lean back, seemingly pondering over the question, before he eventually spoke. “Yes…I think. Very long ago... But it is hard to explain. Even back then it was dark. I Heard more than I saw.”

“huh…” Icarus wasn’t sure what answer he’d expected. It made sense he hadn’t been thrown into this place as soon as he was born and yet as always, he was left with more questions than he had when he’d begun.

Really, who was Asterion? Why was he here? How had he come to be?... And still why had _his_ father conceived him this prison? And why had king Minos sanctioned it, despite his wife’s objection?..


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Still to be properly proofread, so apologies if the flow of some bits is a little off.)

Without warning his stomach grumbled audibly. He felt his face heat up, suddenly remembering the feeling lips pressed against his. He knew it had been merely a means to an end - A way to make him drink without having him spill it all over the place, but still, it had felt very…intimate.

The other shifted a bit, letting go as he reached for something. What he handed him felt…like an apple? He tasted the spherical fruit hesitantly. Sweet, but with a sour edge to it. Identical to the ones he and his father would receive when they were in season.

“Thank you…” Icarus found himself saying with some amount of surprise. He supposed it made sense they lowered food and drink into the labyrinth. After all, how else would they have been able to keep him alive? In fact, thinking of it now, he even felt sure he smelled the faintest hint of olive oil and fish. Or was it just, his empty stomach making itself known?

“You’re welcome.” Asterion replied sheepishly. Icarus could hear him smile. He liked the sound of it.

A little later he found out he’d been right. There was a large basket with a lid, presumably lowered on that same platform they’d used to lower him. Inside were clay containers with the same sort of food he and his father would have been given to eat on a daily basis. Mostly things like Dakos and Tsigaridia with some sort of bread, fried fish and wine on the side. He dug into it hungrily, while the other ate at a more leisurely phase. It tasted heavenly. Only when he began pouring the wine did he suddenly find the other grab hold of his hand and halt him.

Icarus’ brows furrowed. “What?”

“Y-you do not want it…Not so soon-“

“Actually, I think I rather do.”

“No…You do not understand-”

“I’m thirsty.” The young man insisted with furrow in his brows.

Asterion groaned. “It will make you-“

“-_Not_ thirsty. Which sounds pretty good just about now”

For a moment both of his hands disappeared, and Icarus felt certain the other was rubbing his temples, in frustration. Needless to say he didn’t waste the opportunity, quickly bringing the cup up to his face. Smelled fine. Better than fine actually. Like honeyed muslum. And upon further inspection tasted amazing. An exquisite mixture of sour, sweet and spicy, the likes of which he could only imagine the queen drinking herself.

He heard the other gasp, when he’d finally noticed the him slurping up his drink. Before Icarus knew it he felt him grab hold of his arm, tugging at it sharply. By then Icarus had of course already drank most of it, but it didn’t stop him from shouting “Hey!” as he felt the remains of that was left in the cup spill over himself, seeping into his clothes.

“I told you not to drink it!” It was only when Icarus heard the desperation in Asterions tone that he finally felt the furrow in his brow soften and a small sense of worry take root.

“Hey, It’s just honeyed wine. I’m not going to die.”

“No but…will make you feel weird…In a different way…not how you expect…”

“oh…” Was all Icarus could say in response as the pieces finally clicked in his head. Well, fuck. He chuckled nervously… “Is it…always like that?”

“No…only…”

“Only when she sends someone down?”

“…yes.” Again his voice was reduced to a hesitant whisper.

_Oh, Pasiphae you wily bitch, _was all Icarus could bring himself to think in response, as he let out an audible groan. That woman was twisted. Down to the very last detail. And yet he found himself almost impressed. It took a special breed of dastardly to come up with schemes like this.

“I’m sorry…”

“No it’s not your fault …I’m just…”

“I can get you water…”

“You can?..”

“There is a stream.”

“Oh…You mean, here? Underground?”

“Yes…I will be back soon.” Icarus could hear the other grab hold of the amphora, presumably in order to replace its contents and leave no chance of it tempting him while he was gone.

Needless to say his own hand flew to the source of the sound immediately, before the other had a chance to leave. “…No! wait! Take me with you. Please.”

“You are…not feeling well.”

“Exactly! And the_ things _I see and hear get worse when I don’t feel well…So please, don’t leave me alone…again…” 

He could feel the arm he held onto tense. There was a long pause as Asterion seemed to weigh his options, but eventually he relented. “Fine...” It was hard to read what he might be feeling from the tone of his voice alone. There was however a certain hesitation to the way his grip of the amphora shifted and his other hand reached for the young man, to help him up.

As they both rose, one of them less steady than the other, their difference in stature once more became apparent. Not because Icarus could see it, of course, but because he could feel the others breathing faintly, tickling the top his head. Sense the ease with which he had had helped him onto his feet. Not even a tremor in arm. It made a shiver travel down the young man’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was because of a faint, lingering sense of fear or…the wine. In any case, he tried to ignore it as Asterion began leading the way.

_The wine is just an excuse, though, isn’t it? _A faint familiar female voice whispered, with deceiving tenderness.

* * *

With time the tunnels had began narrowing in on them, and he realised as his shoulder accidentally grazed the wall, that the texture had somehow become smoother. No longer, as if carved by the hands of men eager to finish their work. The smell too felt less earthy, which somehow made Icarus suspect they had descended further into the underground, even if he hadn’t noticed much of an inclination in their path. It seemed no sooner than he had finished the thought though, the terrain began noticeably sinking.

Further along, once it became too crammed to walk side by side, Icarus was forced to reluctantly release his grip of the others arm. At which point it instead came to rest at the other’s back, between thick, long locks of unkempt hair. The skin beneath Icarus’ fingers felt hot, and similarly to his face it seemed Asterion's broad back was also partially covered with a fine layer of fur. From what he could tell without outright caressing it, mostly along the line of his spine, along the curve of the connecting muscle.

The even rhythm of their steps broke suddenly, however, when he felt something graze his leg.

Icarus stepped back instinctually, with a shallow gasp, and had his hand still been on the other’s back, he would have felt him freeze up.

“Is everything fine?” Asterion queried, both worried and confused.

“My leg- Something grazed my leg, behind you!“ Was all Icarus found himself about to stammer fourth in response. 

“oh…” There was a small pause between them. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“What do you mean?..” Icarus’ brows furrowed, in confusion.

“My tail…”

“oh…” Icarus finally understood. “I’m sorry…I…should have guessed as much given the…horns and ears.” He admitted, as he gingerly stepped forward again, reaching for the others back. Only, instead finding his hand touching the smooth skin of Asterion’s midriff, tensing up under his touch.

Under normal circumstances his touch would have quickly withdrawn. As if he’d just touched a brandishing iron. Except nothing about this felt normal. Nothing about the darkness. Nothing about his need to feel the slow, even rise and fall of the body in front of him. _Its_ warmth under his fingertips. A bit like the soft glow of a fire in the surrounding desert of cold.

Icarus swallowed. The following silence felt almost palpable. Yet, at the same time, not entirely uncomfortable. He felt the rhythm of the others breathing had once more become a little faster. Wondering, what did he feel? What did he think? At this moment…Icarus took a step forward. Asterion one back. Now It was he who froze up. Suddenly, despite the rising flush in his cheeks and the warm skin under his touch, feeling quite cold.

“Oh…”

He felt the other turn around so his hand was once more on his back. Not as firmly planted, this time. Icarus’ brows furrowed as he smiled weakly.

_How hard he must have hit his head hard when he fell down..._

_The fool..._

_Surely by now he's has gone mad…_

He could hear the disembodied whispers behind him, but dared not come closer to Asterion, this time around. Only exhale shakily as they resumed walking in awkward silence. 

* * *

Slowly as they walked, and the damp soil began turning wet, a hypothesis began to take root in Icarus' mind. That perhaps these smooth, narrow passages must have been carved out long before the rest of the labyrinth, and his father had merely stumbled across them, while devising this place. But of course, there was no way to confirm it, outside of asking a man himself who by now was long gone, probably feasting and celebrating with the Athenian court.

_Or more likely mourning the loss of his son. Alone. _

The young man's brows furrowed. He hadn't expected to hear his mothers voice among those in the dark. Frankly, wasn't even sure how her remembered it, given the last time he'd seen or head her he'd been no older than four. Still, her manifestation had a point. No matter, what foul deeds he had comitted, his father was still his father. 

_You probably think of me as a cruel man, _another _familiar_ voice asked. 

Yes, the young man thought to himself, rather frankly. 

_But have you stopped to think why? _It retorted, without pause.

...As _if_ there could be justification for _this_. 

_Don't be so sure, Icarus. _

Then explain yourself to me.

_I can no more than you can. _

There was a figure walking in the darkness side by side with him now, despite him knowing the walls made it impossible. The furrow in the young man's brow deepened.

If you admit you're merely a figment of my imagination, then why are you bothering me with stupid question?

_Because I taught you to question. _

Never question you.

He heard from the figure a chuckle. _Perhaps...that was my shortcoming. _

It turns out you have many. 

_As do all men. Mortals and gods alike._

What's the point of this?

_Does there have to be one?_

Icarus sighed and knew then talking to _it_ was a waste of time. That it was best to ignore it. Focus instead on the feeling of shallow water trickling past his feet. Cold. Gradually deeper. Current stronger. Until they arrived at a place where the walls expanded and Asterion warned him that he should watch his footing. 

"It gets deeper here..."

"I see."

Icarus figured it'd be a bother to drink from the amphora and settled for feeling for edge of the platou they found themselves on, so he could crouch down and drink from his cupped hand instead. He'd learned by then to mostly ignore the faint _if_ constant throbbing in his wounded arm and slight buzz in the back of his head, but the cold water felt heavenly against his aches, even if he dared not lean forward, too far at fear of tumbling into the icy water. The cold didn’t seem to bother Asterion much though, who from the sounds of it had decided to wash himself off after he’d replaced the amphora’s contents. Which made Icarus figure, even if he had no intention to follow Asterions example, this was as good an opportunity as any to get the pungent wine-stains out of his clothes. 

Carefully, his belt was undone and the chiton removed, as best it could with one arm, and then draped around his neck, so he could soak and rub the parts which he had felt being damp to the touch. 

“What are you doing?..”

The sudden question from behind caught him off guard. So much so, Icarus nearly lost his footing as he joiled to attention and cursed. “By the gods!..”

“I-I am sorry…Did I frighten you?..” Asterion’s tone had shifted from curious, to nervous.

“Yes…I didn’t notice you'd finished washing…” He sighed, as he felt his fluttering heart slowly settle back into his chest, while his finger still rubbed at the fabric. There was a pause, before he explained. “I’m getting out the stains…Don’t want to smell like wine.”

“Oh…I understand…”

“Good…” Perhaps he sounded a bit more curt than he should have but, i was hard not to. To Icarus this went beyond mere annoyance.

Once he was done washing, or at least hoped he was, he turned his head towards the source of of where the voice had come from. Quietly, even if his gut feeling told him Asterion could sense his eyes peering in his direction. Despite the fact that neither could see the other. 

“Touch my face.” Somehow the sudden request even caught Icarus off guard. 

“W-what?..”

“I want you to touch my face Asterion.” 

“I..”

“Like you did before. Nothing less, nothing more.” His tone was deceivingly calm.

“…”

For a moment Icarus found himself wondering if he should reach for that hand himself. If it he was even in his right mind, to think of it… Until he felt _it_. A sheepish touch along his jaw. Too soft for those cold, wet fingertips. He shuddered. They paused.

“Don’t stop.”

He heard the other inhale a little shakily. He wasn’t sure why, but the sound was delectable. He bit his lip. Asterion traced along it. Along the curve of their faint smile. Or perhaps it was more of a smirk? It tickled a little, when he felt the fingers continue along the hollow of his cheek and then further. Exploring his skin for a long while until he felt _it_. The movement in the air as Asterion’s body shifted forward, ever so slightly.

“Who said you could come closer?”

Suddenly, he felt the hand freeze up in its motion. Following it, a long silence. Stiff, and uncomfortable.

Icarus chuckled. “_Now_, you know how it feels.” The young man felt he didn’t have to explain beyond that. Or perhaps he couldn’t explain? But as the hand slowly moved away, he knew he had somehow gotten his point across. He’d _hurt_ him.


End file.
